


kiss it all goodbye

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s01e16 End of the Beginning, Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 16:05:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6431131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s quiet again, but his fingers keep up their exploration of her back and part of her wants them never to stop. The more practical part of her knows they have to - and soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	kiss it all goodbye

Jemma’s chest constricts when the door to the med-pod slides open and it doesn’t precisely lessen when she sees it’s only Grant (of _course_ it’s Grant, of course he’d be the one) and not Fitz or Skye or, good Lord, even one of the level eights, but it becomes something less like fearful shame. She doesn’t bother rising from the bed.

“Hiding?” he asks with a frown as he slides the door shut again behind him and takes up his typical lean against its frame.

“Not exactly,” she says and, with nothing better to do, drums her laced fingers. That stops quickly though, as it sends an uncomfortable vibration through her stomach.

Grant comes around the side of the bed, his frown still in place and growing deeper. He reaches down to feel her forehead. “Were you sick again? Do you think it’s that cereal Fitz insisted on back in Houston? I told him that wasn’t a real brand.”

Jemma shakes her head. “I’m fine.” And she is. Her earlier queasiness has nearly passed, same as it did the last time.

His fingers have trailed off into her hair and her scalp prickles in a lovely sort of way at the contact. “So you’re hiding in the med-pod because you’re _not_ sick?” he asks.

She rolls her eyes. She _just said_ \- and, for the record, she is _not_ hiding in the med-pod at all; it’s just the most convenient part of the Bus to be ill, if it should come to that. Which it hasn’t, so _there_.

But she doesn’t want to fight so instead of saying any of that, she asks, “How’s Skye?”

“Over the moon about her level one access,” he says with only the barest ghost of a smile - but she sees the way his eyes sparkle. “You’d think she got the password to Fury’s Hawaiian vacation photo album the way she’s going on.” He tips his head. “You sure you’re okay?”

She rolls her eyes fondly at his concern. “I’m _fine_.”

His frown returns for a long moment before - and she’s not even sure how he does it without her noticing his hand moving - the bedrail drops with a shudder. “Well then,” he says with a cheeky grin and proceeds to make himself at home in the bed. 

She laughs. She shouldn’t, not with how everything’s spinning out of control, but she can’t help it. He knows just the way to smile at her, just the way to push, just the _places_ to push to dispel her morose mood.

The bed is wide, but still not wide enough for them both and she ends up half on top of him, head pillowed on his shoulder and hand curling at the V of his collar. His heartbeat is steady beneath her ear and it’s almost enough to sooth away the last of her worries, but only almost.

“If Coulson sees us like this…,” she says.

His breath jumps in what might be a laugh. “You’re worried about _Coulson_ when Hand and Garrett and Blake are on board?”

“And Sitwell,” she adds, poking the name into his chest.

His chin dips down and he’s silent so long she has to look up to meet his incredulous stare. “Sitwell,” he says seriously, “is terrified of you. He’d never tell.”

 _That_ is patently false, but she ducks her head again to hide her pleased smile all the same.

“No one’s gonna come down here,” he assures her. “They might all like to turn up their noses at the perks dying got Coulson, but you can bet they’ll enjoy ‘em while they’ve got the chance. And the others are all busy prepping for the mission.” The fingers of the arm she’s crushing trail along her back, tugging her shirt up along the way in a casual intimacy that makes her heart race.

“Do you think she’s ready?” she asks.

“Who?”

“Skye. To be an agent.”

He’s quiet again, but his fingers keep up their exploration of her back and part of her wants them never to stop. The more practical part of her knows they have to - and soon.

“Why do you keep bringing up Skye?” he asks finally.

“I’m just curious,” she says. “You’re her SO, who else would I ask?”

“No,” he counters and his fingers find her chin, forcing her to face him. “That’s not it. What’s this really about, Jem?”

That makes her heart twist. She loves it when he calls her that; it always gives her a little thrill, ever since the first time.

She swallows thickly. “You like Skye,” she says and, much as she doesn’t want it to sound like an accusation, it does. “The way you look at her, the way you’ve hovered ever since she was shot-” Goodness, she does sound bitter. She thought she’d moved past that.

“Whoa, whoa.” He looks genuinely hurt and that is _completely_ unfair because she’s the one who- Well, he should have ended it, that’s the fact of it. When he realized his feelings for Skye, he should have spared Jemma this, but he didn’t and now everything is a _mess_.

She tries to push away, to roll over him and off the bed, but he won’t allow it. His arm is steel around her waist and he catches the back of her head in his hand to stop her fighting. She’s tired - she got to bed late last night because she was running more blood tests and waking feeling as though she were about to be ill hasn’t helped - so it doesn’t take much for her to tire herself out and soon she’s left breathing heavily and slumped atop him.

He watches her carefully, his hand moving to massage her scalp rather than simply hold her. “What is this really about?” he asks slowly. “What’s got you thinking like this?”

She laughs harshly. “Other than the way you stare after her and-” His grip grows painful for a brief moment, shorter than a heartbeat, and it startles her into stopping.

It’s so wholly unlike him that it’s shocked them both. He looks apologetic and perhaps a little frightened at his behavior, so she silently accepts the unspoken apology of his embrace. He pulls her back against his chest, the way she was when he first forced his way in, and passes his hand several times over her hair before letting it fall limply to the bed.

They lay in silence for long seconds, as many as she can bear, before she finally says what’s really on her mind. “I’m pregnant.”

She’s always liked his heartbeat. One of her favorite things about their stolen moments together is being close enough to hear it speed up when his expression shows no change at all. It speeds up quite a bit now.

“What?” he breathes.

“I’m pregnant,” she says again. And then, because she’s had far too much time to think about this, “I think it happened after Nevada. Neither of us were particularly careful that night and-”

He pulls her more fully atop him and she doesn’t miss the way his hands settle around her waist. In this position, she has no choice but to face him or brand herself a coward. His expression, as expected, gives away nothing. “You’re sure?”

She nods and the heels of his hands press gently but firmly inward. Slowly, so slowly it has her on pins and needles until it’s practically fully formed, a smile appears.

“You’re serious?” he asks, this time happily.

“Yes,” she says, unable to stop her own smile. She’s spent _hours_ worried sick over what he’d think and say; his good mood is a pleasant surprise. “You’re not-” she fumbles over the word she wants and finally settles on one she knows to be completely wrong- “mad?”

A laugh huffs out of him. “No. This is-” His hands slide around her back to pull her closer so that he can press his forehead to hers. “I’m not mad. I don’t think I’ve ever been this not-mad in my life.”

“Oh,” she says. She wasn’t expecting quite that reaction. Or that reaction at _all_ , honestly.

His grip stiffens and he pulls back. “What about you? I mean- you’re not…?”

Not mad, no, but she’s not _happy_. Her chin falls to his chest as she considers her feelings carefully. Unfortunately, they all come back to one simple statement.

“You like Skye,” she says, her jaw moving oddly because her chin is still resting against him. “I can see it and I know it’s only a matter of time before this ends.”

His hand slides into her hair again, gently inviting her to face him. “Skye is my friend and my agent - of course I like her. And she was _shot_ and she’s _alive_ so yeah, I’m glad to see her - _every_ time I see her - but she’s not the one I wanna be with.”

His thumb swipes over her cheek and she realizes tears have leaked out. She is a mess, isn’t she?

“I’m happy, Jem. Now what about you?”

She breathes deep, letting all of her worries - silly worries, she sees now that he’s explained - flow out of her. There are, it turns out, plenty of others ready to replace them.

“Afraid,” she confesses.

His hold turns solid, comforting. “I won’t let anything happen to you, I _promise_. And this mission’s gonna be a breeze for you. You and Fitz are on the Bus the whole time.”

That’s not exactly comforting, seeing as  _Grant_ won’t be as safe, but that’s a discussion for another time.

She pushes and this time he lets her up, keeping one hand at her back as he follows so that rather than sit as she intended on the side of the bed, she sits on his lap with her legs trailing over the side. “I meant of SHIELD. We’re going to be in terrible trouble - and Coulson’s going to give us that _look_.”

For all Grant’s a hardened specialist, even he has to wince at that. “We’ll get some grief, yeah,” he admits, “maybe taken off the team, probably some crappy assignments. But in the end…” He slides his hand over her stomach and she sets hers atop it, lacing their fingers. The warmth eases the last of her butterflies. “We’ll be together.”

 


End file.
